• It has reached that time among the wolves, when their packs gather to hear the history of their kind. The storyteller had come. An old wolf, black as night, with twinkles like the very stars in his eyes. The entire pack gathers around him, youngsters in front, sitting on their haunches and waiting for him to begin.

    The elderly wolf sighs and begins, as a soft wind starts among the trees, to tell of the ancient song of the wolf. Speaking of the legacy of his ancestors the wolf begins to glow, as though he were backlit by the moon itself, and the minds of the pack become filled with images as he begins to speak. “The first ancestor of wolves lived among the stars, made of light itself and as beautiful as any. Full of light, happiness, and grace, the song of this Star Wolf was unlike anything known today. It was indeed the song of the stars. You can still catch hints of it in the wolf song of today.”

    As he gains the attention of the pack he speaks softer, forcing them to gather together. “In the beginning, the thrill of being, of sleek movement unhindered, the supple power of its being, was enough for its contentment. But as is its nature, perfection is unfulfilling for long.” As the wolves listen attentively they begin to hear the story more with their very being rather than with their ears. “In its travels the Star Wolf found another like itself, a wolf of truest black, the dark that is the softness of night, and just as mysterious.” The old wolf nods to himself, pleased at the complete enrapture he has created, and continues his tale. “These two beings, the Star Wolf, and the Dark Wolf, traveled together and were happier than they had ever been. They had never known loneliness until they felt it no more. But beings of such complete opposites, light and dark, can’t exist so close without consequence. The pure opposites of the two Wolves slowly drained their companion, who slowly grew weaker, though neither noticed it of the other until it had gone on for some time.”

    “Once the weakness of the two became noticeable, they sought out the only being they knew could help them. For in this time Wisdom was not an idea or a concept, but a true being, and the answer it gave was that the pureness of their beings was slowly eating away at each other, as time does all things. It told them the only way to reverse it was to either separate or to forsake their Immortal selves and take on a mortal coil. After much discussion they chose to run as mortal wolves on Earth and be together for their entire existence, rather than exist eternally and suffer separation. In light of their decision they were reborn as a pure white and pure black wolves, and they ran together.”

    As the old one finishes his story he passes on one last message as wolves around him stretch and ease their muscles after sitting for the story. “We are the legacy of these wolves, the gray that is the best, or the worst, of both. And though they have both left this plane for the next, you can still witness them at the joining of the sun and moon, when the song of the wolf and the song of the stars can always be heard together. The song of the wolf is a song of hope, despair, and the meaning of life. Never forget.” The old wolf nods a final time and grins a wolfish grin, as, to the astonishment of the other wolves, he glows with a silver light and vanishes, leaving the image of a pure white wolf.